


Damn, I left my jacket in there

by LiliGrey



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015), The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene, One Shot, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 02:10:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9101704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiliGrey/pseuds/LiliGrey
Summary: How Napoleon got his jacket back and why it’s highly improbable for someone who had just been electrocuted to drive.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I always wondered why Napoleon showed up at the air-field with his jacket draped over his arm…My version of the missing scene. I just love their camaraderie from this point onwards :D although I remain very doubtful that Napoleon should be allowed to drive.

 

“He fixed the glitch.”

 

Looking at Rudy burn in that blasted chair, Illya just felt a vindictive sense of satisfaction.

 

“Damn.”

 

“I left my jacket in there.”

 

Illya watched the American out of the corner of his eye.

 

He now knew this was Napoleon’s way of dealing with stressful situations, with sarcastic humor and witty comments, but this time, it was the long pause in between that drew his attention. He could guess what Napoleon was thinking in those few seconds, after the conversation they’d had. He himself would have happily snapped Rudy’s neck had he been the one in that chair, but Napoleon…he knew the other man had made up his mind, before the decision was taken out of his hands. He felt slightly nauseated, which gave rise to a more personalized anger towards the CIA.

 

But that does not explain why he suddenly pulled the door open and strode inside the room now filled with smoke.

 

“Peril, what are you…?”

 

Squinting his slightly watering eyes and holding his breath, he ignored the heat and snatched up the rumpled piece of clothing, before making his way back out in two quick strides.

 

Napoleon was still standing where he left him, with his customary “Have you gone mad?” expression on his face, just like back in the facility, when he showed him “The Kiss.”

 

“Your jacket.” He held it out to the bewildered man, who was still staring at him like he was a particularly difficult puzzle that he couldn’t quite figure out.

 

Napoleon looked towards the proffered clothing, and carefully lifted it from Illya’s out-stretched hand. For a moment, he just rubbed his fingers over the soft fabric, then he looked up at his partner. His lips didn’t twitch but the smile had reached his eyes.

 

“Thank you.” For once, it sounded completely sincere.

 

He knew why Napoleon thanked him. Just like Napoleon did not have to drive that truck into the water, he did not have to follow the tracker in Napoleon’s shoe.

 

“You are welcome.”

 

 

//////////

 

 

Napoleon watched as Illya put the receiver down. The man was a walking, breathing contradiction.

 

“That got their attention. They’ll have chopper waiting for us at airport.”

 

However, instead of returning his right hand to the steering wheel, Illya shifted his hand down and gripped Napoleon’s wrist, thumb held steady on his pulse-point, tracking his heart beat. Napoleon’s eyebrows shot up.

 

Illya’s palm was calloused but warm, and the firm grip was especially grounding after the day he just had. The Russian just kept on surprising him.

 

“Multitasking, are we?” He said with a teasing smirk but otherwise didn’t comment.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

“Toasted.”

 

Well, there’s just no point lying to someone who probably knew exactly how he felt at the moment, and he’ll need to reserve his energy for later anyway.

 

Illya slanted him a look.

 

This man has seen him at his best and his worst, and they have long since earned each other’s respect. It might have been an excuse for baring his vulnerability in front of someone who should still technically be his enemy, but he just didn’t have enough energy within him to put up the show, not when he was feeling fried inside and out.

 

His eyes fell again onto the hand holding his pulse point and the bared wrist, a distinct band of white skin against the tan, and he gave up on the idea of pulling away. He knew this was Peril’s way of comforting people.

 

“Wake me when we get there.”

 

He closed his eyes and leaned back, knowing he is safe. For now.

 


End file.
